I was floored. Each woman could have justifiably left someone else to do it— but they didn’t
My fingers automatically delete the message. I don’t make meals for people.
It was an agreement I’d made with myself. It was just way too much of an effort. My reasons were perfectly legitimate: I don’t make meals for my own family. I’m not an organized person. I don’t know what to make. I don’t have time. I work.
There were exceptions. For a close friend or neighbor, I’d try. But for the general community? I knew there were other tzidkaniyos who would offer immediately, and if I waited a few hours, the meal roster would be filled and I could forget about it.
Between the shul, my kids’ schools, and neighbors, there are, baruch Hashem, many births in the community. Some weeks it’s every second day. I used to read the messages requesting meals, ignore them, and move on. I even stopped feeling any guilt about it. It just wasn’t my thing.
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